Wishing on a Blue Star (14 page)

Several times this past week or so I thought to myself, “I need to update that blog.” and invariably got distracted, sidetracked, or just plain lazy.

Which sort of suggests I’d rather snivel than cheer, when you think about it.

Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that an update is in order, and for a change, I have far fewer downs than ups on this roller coaster.

Towit:

The gaping maw which became the hole beneath the hole is now the annoying pinprick. Scarcely a quarter of an inch wide and maybe twice as deep, and still draining... something. :)

That’s a good thing, though I am mortally tired of pulling and packing. It’s gone beyond an exercise into mindless ritual and lets face it, I was never much for ritual. Habits, usually bad ones, I have in plenty, but rituals? Not so much.

I discovered myself chafing at the (virtual) proximity of others. On the surface, that sounds like a down, but in fact it’s a signal that I am more “me” than usual. I have ever been insular and aloof, and for reasons I don’t need to elucidate. All that matters is that I am rather more or less reverting to my natural state, and I have to count that as a good thing, even if it puzzles others. Probably even hurts, too. Both of us.

A few days ago, I took myself to an appointment. After all, I haven’t been taking any pain medication for several days, hadn’t crashed more than once a day for just as many, and I figured I could handle it. I went the whole day by myself and was delighted, making my appointment and even braving the thronging masses to grab a few groceries.

Paid for it the next day though, despite my not having pushed much the day before. Slept nearly 18 hours of the day away even though I did push and tried to stay awake. I’m thinking it’s the gods of chemo reminding me I am still at their mercy, and while I might get a day off, like everyone else in their fashion, my nose is still firmly pressed against the grindstone.

At the risk of making a truly horrific pun, I can
live
with that. :)

The best of all though, and the primary reason for not updating this blog at least a few days sooner, is that I’ve proven my theory that I’ll get at least a week out of every three to write again. This past four days have seen a bit over 6k on a new story, once I finally got around to subbing A Voice in the Darkness to Dreamspinner’s angels anthology.

As before, this one is just for fun, born of a silly idea that’s taken on a life of its own. 6k in four days is chicken scratch compared to my ‘normal’ output, but as others have said, “Words is words.” and I’m keeping these ones. I might even submit them somewhere.

All in all, this has been a pretty good end to a rather bad cycle. I’m going to ask John if we can keep the dosage, despite the extra damage it does in the middle. Clearly, I can recover from the effects and while I am too pragmatic to cling to the idea, I’m reasonably certain the enlarged nodes are smaller than before, and that’s the best news of all.

Cheers people. I’d write more, but I’ve got work to do! Here’s a snip:

After several hours, and several fishing holes, Marshall shouldered the wide strap of a canvas water bag containing his day’s still wriggling catch and headed home. He preferred to do his cleaning well away from where he fished. The offal would attract predators, competition he didn’t need, and if he instead tossed it into the water to avoid the smell, that would serve only to make the rest of the fish fat and lazy. Roughly midway between his cabin and the river, Marshall veered to his left, his eye on the crumbly, splintered remains of a huge pine tree that had likely blown over long before he came to this part of the world. He never used the same exact path from cabin to water, not wanting to leave tell-tale signs of his travels, and this morning’s return trip saw him slightly south of his last journey. Thus, it was the first time he had seen this particular tree, and as he did each time he came upon such, he investigated it’s potential.

Old trees like this one were a gold mine for the grubs which made excellent bait for days when he felt pensive and content to simply sit by the water at the edge of a quiet pool and let the bottom feeders come to him. If he was lucky, he might even find a beehive, and honeycomb was always a treat to a man who drank bitter tea. Mostly though it was the stump itself he sought. Fatwood, often found at the heart of old trees, burned even when wet and made an excellent firestarter, but the tar he produced from it was even more valuable for its unrivaled ability to seal his home against rot, and the very grubs he sometimes collected.

Marshall hung his water bag on a branch and set his back to the rising sun. He kicked at the stump with a booted heel, knowing that the fresh scar he made would be visible when he came back from the direction of his house, but would still look like nothing more than a bear or a randy deer had been at it. Dry, rotted wood exploded from the force of his strike and showered down to the thickly needle strewn ground. Bright white spots wiggled out of the new scar and he sighed. Termites were fine for bears to lap up like candy, but he wanted the almost obscenely fat wood borers that left such fascinating, ever widening trails between wood and bark as they chewed their way deep into the heart of tree and branch. Trails which fascinated him as a boy whenever he found them, darting from rock to tree like a like a magpie, looking for new treasure as he hiked the woods with his father.

Marshall kicked the stump again and felt a solid jolt as his foot glanced off a section that refused his determination. Nearly translucent because it was saturated with pitch, the fatwood he sought gleamed mellowly in the dappled sunlight. He broke off a sliver and sniffed at it. Rich, fragrant pine scent assailed his nose and made his eye water. Overhead, a bluejay shrieked. Marshall unerringly sought and found the source of the racket, flitting from branch to branch in agitation as though it protested the damage Marshall had done. He frowned, wondering if there was a nest nearby to cause the bird to be so distressed by his proximity. As he turned and reached for the water bag, mentally marking the location of the stump in his mind, he heard a deep, quietly ominous growl directly behind him.

Tomorrow I have another appointment. I haven’t been on any medication lately, and I’ve only crashed once today.... Hmmm. :)

Patric

Monday, December 21, 2009

And the children were nestled..... Finally.

Yowsa!

I have said it a thousand times, so one more wont hurt. I have the best doctor in the world.

Set the Wayback Machine, Sherman! Go back to while I am sitting in the dentist chair, waiting for his august presence.

Or we can go back still further to when I called, made the appointment, and told them what I needed to have done. It amounts to the same thing.

Note: The following dialog and conversations are
paraphrased
, only.

“Hey Mr. Dentist Guy, nice to meet you.” Says me.

“You too. I understand you you’re on chemo?” Says he.

Me: “Yep.”

He: “And that you are looking for extractions?”

Me: “Oh hell yeah!” (Not terribly delicate, me.)

He: “Well, your condition does pose some risks.”

Sound Effect: Screeching tires on asphalt.

Me: Yes, I know. I talked to my oncologist about it. He suggested the last week of the cycle as optimum, but insurance runs out at the end of the year so I dont have much choice. I doubt we’ll have much of a problem though, because the appointment I have scheduled with your office is six days later. By then, the booster will have already kicked in, and my blood counts tend to run high rather than low.”

Insert shot: Me handing him a complete history of blood counts to date. Its a big stack.

He: Well, I’ll have to call your doctor and see what he has to say.

Sound Effect: A single heart, beating rhythmically in the otherwise silent room.

Me, silently: “
Shit. Here we go again.
”

You know, I get that most patients dont tend to their own welfare, preferring to let doctor or dentist do all their thinking for them, and simply accept whatever they have to say.

I dont like it, but I get it.

And yeah, I get that I’ve never talked to Mr. Dentist Guy before, so he doesnt know me from Adam, but damn. I dont carry that big black accordion folder FULL of medical information around for nothing. It doesnt matter to him that I know my blood counts, that I know the risks and deemed them acceptable for the situation, AND that I can (and tried to) back up my position with information from that stupid folder.

All that matters to him is that he talk to the doctor. Meh. (and yes, I know I am being *somewhat* unreasonable here, but this crap has gone on since day one, with everyone, except my number one, hired cancer killer, John.)

The one guy who listens (and hears) what I have to say. The one guy who doesnt automatically assume I am blowing sunshine out my butt or being foolish.

So naturally, I try to call him before Mr. Dentist Guy can get hold of him. And run smack into Trina. (Knew that was gonna happen, though.)

The process of speaking to God works like this: Call the office, get routed to the doctor, get intercepted by voice mail from Trina, leave a message, and wait for a call back.

I’ll give her credit that she does call back rather quickly, comparatively speaking, but when she does, it’s time to fence. Yes, I understand why she has to be a buffer for him, and even agree with it, except when she takes on that *I* have to be buffered. Although I never asked, I am fairly certain John knows I dont abuse the situation, and NEVER call unless there is real need. I hope. :)

Am I asking for special treatment? Nope. But I am asking to be recognized as out of the ordinary, at least.

“Hi Trina. Yeah, I know. Mr. Dentist Guy said he was going to call. I wanted to talk to John and see if there were any other risks for getting this work done earlier than we had discussed.”

“Well, the main risk is for bleeding and infection.”

“Yeah, I know that. I was looking for anything else I *didn’t * know about. I kinda wanted to talk to him directly.”

“Well I cant make any promises, like I said we’re pretty backed up. I’ll pass on the message and see what he has to say.”

(Fortunately, my fuming is inaudible.)

“Okay.” Click.

Crap. I don’t believe for a minute that she will accurately impart my questions. Call it a hunch, inaccurate or otherwise, but I just *know* she’d rather err on the side of caution and recommend to Mr. Dentist Guy to refuse the procedure. In all honestly, that’s likely just me being twitchy after that whole infection mess (which I found out later she was in no way responsible for, contrary to my original supposition) but twitchy or not, if I wanted to talk to
her
about my health, I’d have asked to talk to her.

John is the only one I trust.

So, while I wait, I find out my new glasses come in. Off I go (did I mention I’m driving myself? Whoo hoo!) to get them, and that Doc is busy, so I visit the cable internet place around the corner so I can shoot the breeze with the receptionist. Christi is a sweetie so the waiting is not a hardship at all.

I’m bouncing back and forth from one place to the next, and it occurs to me that I have proof rather than supposition for my blood count levels. I had tests taken seven days after I got chemo when that infection first presented. I’m on my way back to my truck to look in my folder and confirm when John calls.

Oh sweet God and sunny Jesus, thank you thank you thank you.

“Hey John!”

“Hi. How are you feeling?”

“Pretty damn good, actually. I’m driving myself today. I’ll pay for it tomorrow, but what the heck.”

“That’s good. I got a call from your dentist, but I wanted to talk to you first before I answered him.”

(Yes! That’s my guy!)

“Yeah. Insurance runs out so I’m stuck getting this work done earlier than we originally discussed. I need to know if there are any other risks I dont know about that might change my mind.”

He told me about the increased risks of infection, a risk that increases further the more invasive the work done, etc. Told me where that infection was likely to end up (scary!) and so on.

I referred him to the tests on the 19th, seven days after the cycle started on the 12th, told him that I thought the six days would be enough to get levels back up, etc.

He agreed, and added the safety margin of taking antibiotics beforehand just in case, and I can do that easy.

Have I mentioned that I love this guy? I give him facts and my perspective, and he processes it through the sieve of his knowledge, and tells me if I am right or wrong. No other doctor extant has taken the time to do that with or for me, and that makes him solid gold.

Since I have *not* heard from Mr. Dentist Guy, who promised to call if there was a problem, I get to make the next appointment and hopefully he wont waffle out and refer me to an oral surgeon anyway. That part I can tolerate. Canines are pretty long after all.

So I got a brilliant finish to a great start despite the crappy bump in the middle.

A brilliant finish made even shinier when I found out my sister and her youngest, plus friend, showed up a day early from out of state for the holidays. Whoo Hoo!

Add to that the fact that I’ll finally have a tree this year (because of them) and I’m gonna explode with an excess of Yay.